


Alouette

by mynameisnoneya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1980s, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Implied Sexual Content, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 01:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12025326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/pseuds/mynameisnoneya
Summary: It's the early 1980s, and Sandor Clegane is a working-class factory employee living on the Lower East Side.  He hates his job, he hates his employer, but the one thing that he hates the most of all is disappointing his beautiful, rich girlfriend, Sansa Stark.  Although he had promised to take her out tonight, he had to work overtime.  Sure that his little bird has flown once he arrives at his apartment, Sandor is stunned to find that his little bird is still waiting up for him, feathers and all.





	Alouette

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written thanks to a prompt posted yesterday on Tumblir that wondered if someone had ever written a tale where Sansa sported some bird-themed lingerie for Sandor's benefit. Magically, after reading that request, this story was born. I hope you enjoy the peppering of 80s references tossed in with a smattering of smut between Sandor and Sansa!
> 
> Please note that I made sure to tag any and all characters that appear in this work, whether they have a speaking role or not.
> 
> General disclaimer: GoT characters and quotes belong to GRMM - I own nor claim nothing!
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, please let me know by leaving comments and kudos!

_Alouette, gentille alouette,_ _  
Alouette, je te plumerai._

_\- French-Canadian children’s song_

Fiddling with the radio in his ’69 Dodge Charger, Sandor sighed heavily as he sat trapped in his car, stuck in the late-night clog of traffic on FDR Drive, cursing under his breath as he tried to find some semblance of a decent song on the airwaves to ease his rapidly rising level of frustration.  For a man who loved hard rock, finding something on the radio these days other than some cheesy pop ballad or another annoying as fuck disco track was about as futile as him thinking that he’d get home to Sansa, his drop-dead gorgeous little bird, tonight before she fell asleep while trying to stay awake to see him.

“Ah, forget it,” Sandor huffed to himself, mashing the button to turn of the screeching, up-beat racket of one of those Jackson Five brothers he never could remember the names of.  Carding his hand through his shoulder-length black hair, Sandor wished to all of the gods both known and unknown that he had been able to tell his boss that he couldn’t work late tonight.  Joffrey was a short, petty, demanding little shit, always throwing his imagined weight around the factory, reminding the grunts on duty that his father owned the place and that the employees ought to kiss his skinny ass for even keeping them on board, especially during the recession and all.  Since Sandor was the Baratheon brat’s most trusted machine shop supervisor, rarely did Sandor see a shift end before twelve hours escaped him.

Today was no exception.  Almost fifteen hours after starting his work day, Sandor finally had managed to escape after promising Joffrey and his overweight and overbearing father, Robert, that Sandor would come in tomorrow, his one day off this week, to oversee the crew running the machinery.   Sandor fucking hated working at Stormlands Industries, but for a man of his size and stature, coupled with his less-than-savory looks, beggars can’t be choosers when it comes to finding gainful employment.

Checking his watch, Sandor sighed deeply once again as the traffic finally started to surge forward.  Sandor had promised Sansa weeks ago that he would take her out tonight.  She had been begging him to escort her to the club where her ridiculously wealthy set of girlfriends liked to hang out on their Friday nights.  His beautiful little bird had been prattling on about it for a solid month now.  Spending any amount of time in some uptown, upscale nightclub was assuredly not something that a working-class man such as Sandor aspired to do, but for Sansa, he’d walk through fire to make her pert, curvy ass happy.  And damn him if that wasn’t saying a lot, considering how freaked out by fire he was on any given day.

As the next 60 minutes slowly creaked by him, Sandor knew that by now, Sansa had long ago relinquished her hope that he would be home any time soon.  He had toyed with the idea of pulling off the freeway and into a gas station to call her on a payphone to let her know that he was sorry he was going to be home so late.  However, Sandor knew that stunt would only add an exorbitant amount of time to his travels.  So, he opted instead to just wait it out, hoping that his redheaded girlfriend wouldn’t want his head on a spike for failing once again to follow through with his promises.

He fucking _hated_ it when he disappointed her.

Finally pulling into the overpriced parking garage near his flat, Sandor grumbled to himself as he parked his car.  Owning a car in the city was about the stupidest thing Sandor could do, other than not keep his promises to Sansa.  It was fucking highway robbery, the amount the garage owners charged folks to keep a car.  But even though Sandor could easily rid himself of the pricey monthly expense, he refused.  That car had history.

Hopping out and shutting the driver’s side door, he paused momentarily as he surveyed his ride.  Sandor slowly traced his large hand along the doorframe above the window, remembering the few moments of his youth that were happy.  Thinking about how much his dad used to love that Dodge, tinkering around under its hood virtually non-stop, Sandor smiled.  He remembered the time spent hanging out at his dad’s auto body shop, how he loved joking around with his father, learning first-hand how to flush a carburetor, talking shit about school or the neighbors in the tenement building where they lived.  How he ached to have his dad alive still.  As Sandor caught a glimpse of himself in the window while momentarily reliving his childhood, he frowned, only making the heinous mass of scar tissue on the mangled side of his face coil together in a hideous expanse of ruined flesh.

_Too fucking bad Gregor is the one who is still alive.  Sorry cunt._

Spinning around quickly on his boot-covered heels, Sandor stomped off toward the exit to the garage, walking the few blocks to his apartment.  He knew that by now, Sansa had probably fallen asleep while watching _Dallas_.  Maybe if she weren’t too damn mad at him for being late and had chosen to wait around, Sandor could grab a beer and flop on the sofa with her and watch Carson.  And maybe, if he were a lucky man, he could distract her from the fact that he’d let her down once again by offering his services in a completely different yet highly pleasurable fashion.

Chuckling to himself as he unlocked his front door, shoving it open carefully so as not to wake her, Sandor gingerly stepped inside, carefully laying his keys on the bar and removing his black leather jacket.  Curiously, Sansa wasn’t fast asleep on his couch.  The television wasn’t droning on in the background as he had expected.  No empty wine glass sat perched on his cheap-ass coffee table he’d snagged at a pawn shop when he first moved to the Lower East Side.  The whole place appeared to be dark.  In fact, it appeared that he was all alone in his fourth-floor walk-up tonight.

 _Must have given up on me and went back to her dorm,_ Sandor sighed as he clicked on the lamp on the end table.  _Can’t blame her, really._

Yanking off his boots and chucking them to the floor where he stood, Sandor walked the short distance around his worn-out sofa into his tiny kitchen.  He decided that he would try to call her at the dorm in a minute, even though he wondered if in fact she had headed over to the club without him.  Sandor didn’t like the sound of that.  At.  All.

Not many choices at hand for a man’s supper, Sandor snagged a cold beer from the fridge and the leftover Chinese food he’d bought a couple of days ago when he’d gone to lunch with Beric and Tormund.  Still bent over in the fridge, internally chastising himself for not calling Sansa before he’d left the factory, Sandor startled at the sound of a husky, low-pitched woman’s voice floating across the air.

“You’re late,” Sansa stated as she rounded the sofa and sauntered toward the kitchen where Sandor stood buried ass-deep in the fridge, “I almost went home, but I decided to wait for you.”  She couldn’t help but smirk at the baffled expression washing over his countenance when his gray eyes caught sight of her.  The wheels in his head must be spinning out of control right about now as he drank in her presence.  Even in the dimly lit apartment, Sansa could see how wide Sandor’s eyes were as he blatantly raked them over her lightly-freckled form, gaping at her like a surprised fish either at her sudden presence in his apartment or her choice of attire.  Or both, perhaps.

“Sansa?” Sandor choked as he haphazardly plunked his unopened can of beer and take-out container on the kitchen counter, staring at her in a state of total disbelief like a man who just realized that he was holding the winning ticket to the lottery.  He was speechless.  Not because she was in his apartment after all but because Jesus H. Christ, the woman was in his apartment wearing nothing but a microscopic scrap of turquoise and black fabric masquerading as lingerie.

“Did you have a good day?” Sansa cooed, acting like she wasn’t dressed the way she was, bracing herself against the counter with one well-manicured hand, propping her other one on her shapely hip.

“Did I have a good…where the fuck were you hiding just now?” Sandor rasped, his brain on the verge of short-circuiting as he tried to process the vision standing before him.  Unconsciously, his tongue darted out to wet his lips as she stalked forward.

“I was in the back,” she chirped innocently, lightly brushing aside the expanse of waist-length copper curls cascading across her right shoulder, pushing them toward her back.  “In your bedroom.  Waiting.  For you.”

_If only I’d known…I’d have my face stuffed between your legs already.  Now that would be some supper right there._

“Holy hell, woman,” Sandor chuckled darkly as he reached up to scratch his full, dark beard.  “That thing you’re wearing…”

“Mmm?” Sansa grinned, puffing out her ample bosom which was on the verge of spilling out of the infernally short little number, “You like it?”

“Like it?” Sandor barked in laughter, watching closely as she decided to push off the counter and slowly spin around in a circle.  “Fuck me sideways, girl.  Like is _not_ the half of it.”

Sandor’s highly alert cock had come to life the instant that Sandor had laid eyes on her, barking at Sandor to let him out to relieve himself, so to speak.  With his burgeoning erection pushing uncomfortably against his button fly, Sandor reached down to adjust himself as Sansa paused her little show.  Because the place was still fairly dark, Sandor leaned across the bar to flick on the overhead lighting to get a better view of his devious girlfriend. 

“Is that…wait.  Are those feathers?” Sandor snorted in amazement as he narrowed his eyes while assessing her sinfully skimpy outfit.  Even though over half the blood in Sandor’s body had re-routed to his crotch the minute he had caught a glimpse of Sansa’s ensemble, he still had enough cognitive ability to realize that her sexy little get-up was supposed to make her look like a peacock.  

The corset had fluffy tufts of spotted feathers covering her breasts, the iridescent fabric full of sparkly embroidered feathers woven into the turquoise material.  That skin-tight contraption stopped just shy of her midriff, leaving her taut, flat stomach exposed.  Her legs were bare, save for the sky-high patent leather heels that screamed “Fuck me.”  And that thong…buggering hell, it was so damn small, it really should have been marketed as an eyepatch.

A fucking peacock.  This gorgeous, highly intelligent young lady was standing literally half-naked in his apartment, not jumping into his shit about being late or not taking her out tonight.  No, his infernally patient girlfriend, who could have her choice of up-and-coming Wall Street wannabes over at her pricey university, was standing in the middle of his run-down apartment, dressed like, well, a little bird.  The irony was not lost on him.  Nor the hard-on.

“They certainly are,” Sansa giggled, covering her mouth demurely as she stepped closer to her boyfriend, letting him get an eyeful of her very recent purchase at the adults-only store that Margaery and Jeyne had taken her to at Sansa’s request.

Sansa had never been inside of one of those fairly seedy and mostly disgusting places, but they were about to hit the three-month mark of their dating relationship this weekend, and she desperately wanted to surprise him.  She wanted to show Sandor that she wasn’t just some spoiled, virtuous rich girl from the Upper West Side, always prim and proper and minding her courtesies.  He had made her feel more alive for the first time in her nineteen years than she ever had.  She didn’t care if her parents didn’t approve of his foul-mouth or his lack of filter.  She didn’t give a shit if Robb or Arya looked down their noses at Sandor’s working-class upbringing over in Jersey.  She didn’t give a rat’s ass if her sorority sisters (save Margaery and Jeyne) were appalled that she chose to cavort with a man who had actually seen the inside of a jail a time or two.  This man, this uncommonly tall, well-built sexy-as-hell man who seemed to only own denim and leather adored her.  She knew that he loved her, body and soul.  He was the kind of guy, albeit rough around the edges, who would lay down his life for her if push came to shove.

Try finding _that_ in a sea of snotty frat boys swathed in Izod and Member’s Only.

“C’mere,” Sandor growled as he snatched Sansa forward by her wrist, “God, the things I want to do to you right now…”

“What…what kind of…things,” Sansa groaned between breaths, closing her eyes as Sandor’s hot, wet tongue traced the incline of her long neck, running the length from her exposed collar bone to her pulse point.

His hands found their way up her pale thighs, squeezing and kneading her ass, tugging slightly on the backside of her turquoise thong with his right hand, pulling it firmly and quickly before releasing the tiny band, chuckling when it snapped against the crack of Sansa’s well-formed ass and caused her to startle slightly right before he ratcheted up his assault on her neck.

“Sinful things,” he replied, biting slightly on her flushing skin, deciding for once he wasn’t going to worry about whether he left his mark on her, “Dirty, immoral things.  Things your uptown, uppity ma didn’t know to warn you about.” 

“Oh, please…Sandor…I…” Sansa all but begged as his manual exploration abandoned her posterior, languidly sliding his hand around her hip until it made purchase with her mound.  He shoved aside the thin layer of fabric, using his index finger to graze her damp folds.

“Fuck, you’re already wet for me,” Sandor moaned as he began to massage her clit, teasing her more than pleasing her at the moment, “I knew it.  Such a naughty little bird.  Do you want me to take you to bed now?  Is that what you wanted all along?”

“God, yes,” Sansa gasped as Sandor’s finger slowly parted her nether lips and entered her.  She tugged at his hair, fisting two handfuls as she pulled him upward, demanding that he look her in the eye.  The look of raw, unadulterated want was so powerful in his stormy gray eyes, Sansa felt her breath hitch in her throat.

“You’re not mad at me for having to work overtime?  Again?” Sandor asked quietly, his eyes scissoring across her delicate features as he began to unhurriedly thrust his finger inside her.

“Nah,” Sansa smiled as she lightly traced the rough side of his mouth.  Her own mouth parted into an “o” shape as Sandor made contact with the magical little spot inside of her that he loved to tweak.

“But the club…I didn’t take you- ”

“I don’t care about the club.”

“No?”

“No.  Besides, you can _take_ me here just as easily, right?”

That playful innuendo caused Sandor to smile lasciviously at her.  “Abso-fucking-lutely.”  And with that reply, he quickly removed his finger from her wet cunt, scooping her into his arms, hoisting her up into the air by her thighs.  Immediately, Sansa wrapped her lanky legs around his waist, throwing her arms around his neck as Sandor began to carry her toward his bedroom.

“I’ll have you singing your song for me in no time, little bird,” Sandor vowed, leaning forward to plant a chaste kiss on the tip of her slightly up-turned nose.  “But first, I’m gonna pluck you bare.  Feather by feather…”

And pluck her bare he did.  Oh, and about that song…Sandor had her crooning her little ditty tonight in record speed.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who don't know the song "Alouette," it's a simple little French-Canadian kids' song about someone preparing a lark to eat for a meal. When thinking about the story angle for this fic, the song somehow popped into my head when I was trying to picture what Sansa might look like stuffed into a birdy-themed nightie.
> 
> Eating birds...hmm...
> 
> I'll bet you'll never hear that song the same way again.


End file.
